Recollection and Regret
by LaurieQ
Summary: A little melancholy, a little memory, and a pinch of regret. Callie remembers how things were... and how different they might have been. A previously finished story being transferred from another site.
1. Chapter 1

**_T_** ** _itle of Story:_** Recollection and Regret ** _  
_**  
 ** _Type of Story:_** AU ** _  
_**  
 ** _Rating of Story:_** T ** _  
_**  
 ** _Characters in Story:_** F, J, Ca, OC. Brief mentions of other cannon characters (Fe, L, V, Ch, Liz Webling) ** _  
_**  
 ** _Warnings:_** This story takes place some 70 years into the future. Some cannon characters have passed away in that interim. This story is not about the death of any Hardy family member, but old age happens to the best of us. **_  
_**  
**_Date Story Posted:_** July, 2011 _ **  
**_  
 ** _Plot Blurb:_** A music box and a late night chat about the way things might have been… ** _  
_**

 ** _Special Notes:_**

I have a tendency toward action oriented stories. This story isn't it. It's a bit of a melancholy answer to what happens to Callie and Frank after... well, after everything.

Chronologically, this would be the last of the stories in a series. There are spoilers for the other stories within this one, but nothing you have to know for this to make sense. There are other tales in between, and I'll get to them. A sane person would have written them in order… ah, well…

And before I start, to Cherylann, I'm sorry...she'll know why.

 **CHAPTER 1**

Silk brocade. Smooth with the slightest nub at the same time, shimmering shades of pale wheat and cream whirling into a complex floral pattern… possibly comprised of orchids. The rose-gold sunlight filtering through the leaded glass windows failed to provide enough illumination to tell.

Someone sighed, a lonesome, resigned sound, and reached a blue veined hand toward velvet curtains the color of sacrificial wine, hoping to nudge them aside. The skeletally thin fingers hesitated shy of their goal, unable to reach the oppressive draperies.

The silk gown was lovely, botanical design identified or not. Dainty lace trim surrounded the square neckline as well as the embroidered collar and cuffs of the matching robe, marking the attire as both elegant and expensive in an understated old money sort of way… much like the octagonal bedchamber in which its wearer sat. Red toile fabric graced the walls below an intricately carved chair rail, while cream Venetian plaster extended above to the arched ceilings. The pastoral cloth repeated on the duvet spread over the curtained canopy bed, while the drapes' velvet reappeared on the pleated bed skirt, a scattering of richly trimmed pillows, and the overstuffed chaise that held the room's only occupant. Nineteenth century cherry furniture and flooring completed the ensemble. Feminine and impeccably decorated, if more suited to a museum than a home.

...Which was fitting enough for the woman enclosed within. Her peaches and cream complexion had long since gone translucent ivory, and once honey blonde tresses now trailed in an alabaster braid over one shoulder. The petite robe swirled loosely around a painfully thin frame, overwhelming a body it once caressed along gentle curves. Remembering whether the flowers carefully woven into the brocade were orchids was irrelevant. The pattern would be invisible now anyway, faded away as the last of the sunshine ebbed into twilight. The autumn day was fading, and so was she. It wouldn't be long now.

"Ma'am?"

She stirred on the chaise, but didn't open her eyes.

The grey suited gentleman tried again, crossing the floor to softly rest a hand on her elbow. "Ma'am? Mrs. Coleridge?"

A rattling cough preceded the opening of distant hazel-green eyes, the gold flecked color a remnant of a vibrant girlhood. She gazed at the silver haired man before her, struggling to focus. "Robert?"

He winced, both at the name and the confusion it implied. "Ah, no, ma'am. It's Gerald." He fluffed her cushions while he waited, comprehension taking her a fraction longer than yesterday, and two fractions longer than the day before that.

"Mrs. Coleridge? Callie?" More than fifty years' service to the Coleridge estate had earned him a certain familiarity.

Clarity returned to the frail woman in front of him, intelligence once again infusing the lined face. "Gerald, of course. I fear I'm spending more and more time with my Robert these past few weeks. I'll see him soon enough."

"Don't say that, ma'am. I'm certain Mr. Coleridge can wait a bit a longer for a reunion." He refilled an ornate pewter pitcher with water and placed it within her reach. "I can bring your supper now, if you like. Ms. Kearns has prepared an oyster stew, Waldorf salad, pork loin with orange curry glaze, grilled vegetables, French bread, and a raspberry torte."

Callie swallowed hard against the mere notion of consuming that much food. "She's cooking for Robert, nine years later. A simple bowl of stew, if you please."

"Ah, still watching that girlish figure. Very well, ma'am."

A small laugh ensued. "Still flattering an old woman, I see."

"Never call the mistress of the house an old woman – surely that's in the servant's creed somewhere."

"Perhaps, but I've little idea what else you'd call me at this late date. I'll be ninety-three years old in a week, if I get there." A hint of teasing snuck into the words, softening the knowledge that she almost certainly wouldn't celebrate that birthday for both of them. "And you've long been as much friend as servant."

"Thank you, ma'am, I'd like to think so. I've had a very happy home here." He turned toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "I'll be right back with that stew, unless you'd prefer that Amelia bring it up."

"Amelia's here already? I didn't hear the car." Callie flattened the folds of her robe into a more presentable arrangement. "Send the soup with her then. I suspect she'll appreciate a rescue from her uncle."

Gerald stifled a laugh, forcing his expression to remain bland. "That's entirely probable."

It was evident to all that the always inquisitive and usually diplomatic Amelia Coleridge didn't mix well with her more overbearing uncle. There was too much of her father in her for that, but then Jacob was a bit of a family anomaly as well.

Intelligent and thoughtful, the eldest Coleridge son shared none of the brash forcefulness of his four younger brothers. Perhaps that was why neither Callie nor her late husband Robert had objected when Jacob, the evident heir, declined to head the family banking empire, leaving that task to a younger brother. A brother who was no doubt presently harassing his niece about what waste of time gizmo research project she was slaving over for her father now.

Not that Amelia classed participation in her father's academic endeavors or inventions drudgery. Jacob Coleridge was a well-respected designer and professor of innovative aeronautic technologies, if not the financial mogul his parents might have foreseen. He'd married late and had children even later, now well into his sixties with the seventeen year old Amelia and a son a year her senior. Most of the pair's cousins were more than twice that age.

Callie Coleridge had made all the appropriately dismayed comments at her child's delayed entry into parenthood, but secretly she was thrilled with extra years it provided her with her oldest son, the only one of her brood that seemed to share the slightest aspect of her personality. The addition of two grandchildren just like him to enliven the final decades of her life had become an unexpected treasure.

Callie startled out of a doze as the door swung open again, a young girl entering to settle a silver tray laden with a stew-filled china bowl, a crystal goblet, and a single rose onto her grandmother's lap.

"Good evening, Nana." Amelia perched on the cushioned seat of the bay window, her five foot frame tucking neatly within its borders. Milk chocolate waves tumbled down to skim her waist, the warm color a shade darker than her eyes.

"Hello, Amelia. Did you have a good drive up?" Callie flicked a linen napkin across her lap with practiced ease, the monogram landing neatly on top. C **C** S. Odd how the simplest of things inspire melancholy when time is growing short. Callie Shaw Coleridge… It might have been so very different…

"And Daddy may be able to get here by Friday if he can finish his last lecture class by three. He doesn't mind making the drive after dark, but heaven forbid if Jake or I try it… not that I think that my brother ought to drive period, of course. Everything would be fine if he didn't always have dibs on the car, you know? One of his professors really should enlighten him that NASCAR driving is generally reserved for designated tracks, not Main Street. Oh well. Maybe we could all go down to the lake Saturday morning. The trees were gorgeous on the way here, especially the sugar maples…"

Callie realized that she hadn't been paying attention and her granddaughter had apparently begun to ramble to cover the lapse. "Amelia?" She waited for the animated chatter to slow. "Amelia?"

"Yes, Nana?"

Callie handed the teen the scarcely touched food before pointing to a small wooden trunk in the corner. "I think we both know that I won't be going to the lake. Scoot that over here and let's have a look. There are some things in there I want to give you."

Amelia started to protest, eager to ignore the older woman's ebbing health, but a glance at Callie found her nodding instead. She pulled a tasseled ottoman from the foot of the bed, arranging both herself and the oblong mahogany chest at her grandmother's side.

"Well open it, child." A distant memory tugged at Callie. "It's been a long time since I've hidden anything in a box that might jump out at you."

"Jump out at me?" Curious amusement lit the young face. "Surely you wouldn't have done anything like that?"

"Oh, but I did. A big, green, warty toad, wrapped up in a gift box with pink ribbon, pretty as you please. It made quite the impression, I must say, especially when it hopped right through the chocolate ice cream and then landed on Liz Webling's new white party dress."

"I'd imagine." Amelia was laughing outright, a few mirthful tears escaping as Callie elaborated on the toad's squeal-inducing romp through a mound of carefully prepared presents and edibles. "So, were you in the habit of giving gifts to enemies, or was this a special occasion?"

"Oh, it was a special occasion, but definitely not an enemy - my best friend's thirteenth birthday, actually. She dared me to find a birthday gift she wouldn't like when I was over obsessing about the need to shop for her party. I got her something else as well, of course, but I can't remember what. Strangely enough she loved that frog. She set it loose in a pond at her farm, which is where I'd caught it in the first place, and she swore she could tell it apart from the other hundred critters there. Knowing Iola, she probably could."

Amelia's laughter trailed off and she opened the lid of the chest, thankfully noting the absence of toads. She removed a packet of yellowed letters and photographs, handing them to the older woman, and then lifted out a shallow tray.

Callie sifted through the collection of jewelry, selecting a pair of sapphire earrings. The stones were half a carat, set in the center of delicate filigree petals. "Ah, here they are. Blue always looks delightful on you."

Amelia took the offered items, blushing. While pretty, she didn't often dress up. "They're beautiful. Are you sure, though? I mean, isn't Aunt Claire supposed to… when… um…"

Callie frowned slightly at the mention of her daughter-in-law, now truly the matriarch of the household in everything but name. "If you're trying to find a polite way to ask if these belong to the estate once I die, they don't. Everything in this box is mine alone, to give out as I will. My father gave me these as a graduation present from college. It seems to me they ought to go to someone with as much appreciation for the sentiment as the dollar value of the sapphires, don't you agree?"

She passed over a few items without waiting for an answer, picking up a strand of small pearls. "Now these were my mother's. I remember the Christmas Daddy bought them for her, I was seven."

An hour later the various pieces had been sorted, Amelia stopping periodically to jot down a note about an individual item's origin or intended recipient. The allocated treasures ran the gambit from Callie's mother's wedding rings, again given to Amelia, to a vintage Batman comic book for Jake, apparently purloined from someone named Joe eighty odd summers ago. A fair amount of giggling accompanied the stories, suggesting to the teen that the regal and somewhat staid woman she'd known as her grandmother had been preceded by a far less serious girl.

"I think we're down to the last of it." Amelia withdrew a polished cube of walnut wood inlaid with burled maple from the bottom of the chest, tiny hinges visible along one the edge. "Oh wow… this is beautiful."

Callie traced her fingers over the rose carved into the lid, the earlier laughter replaced by a wistful smile that seemed miles away… or a lifetime away, perhaps. "I wonder…"

Not bothering to finish the sentence, she sought the back of the box, winding a silver knob before opening the lid.

A soft melody infused the room, the music box unchanged from a crisp night so many years before. Callie smelled the lilacs strewn over the moonlit gazebo, saw the glitter of fireflies, heard the crickets chirping amongst the notes of the waltz, felt a strong hand close over hers… _I love you, Callie_ … the warm baritone voice hadn't changed either, the romantic evening freed from the mandates of time in her memory… _I love you, too… Still…_

"Nana?" Amelia moved closer, one hand wiping at a tear drop on her grandmother's cheek. "Are you okay?"

"What?" Callie clasped her granddaughter's hand, squeezing gently. "Yes, honey, I'm fine. Just being a bit silly, that's all."

"It doesn't look silly." Amelia snagged the tissues off the bedside table, holding one out. "I'm listening."

"I remember the night I received this. It was perfect – candlelight dinner, the park under the stars, the breeze, the garden, everything. At least that's how I recall it. Reality has so little to do with being that young, engaged, and so hopelessly in love." Callie accepted the tissue, dabbing at her eyes and smiling all at once.

"Engaged… Grandpa gave you this, then?"

Callie let out a shaky breath, pondering how much to say. Not that she'd be able to tell this story later – and if she was honest with herself, this was exactly why she'd asked her Amelia here for the week. "No, not Grandpa Robert… His name was Frank…"

#####

#####

#####

to be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. It will be 1-2 days between chapters for this and it's quite short, so about 10 days round trip.

CHAPTER **2**

"You were engaged before Grandpa?!" Amelia was scandalized. Suddenly there was much more to the art gala hosting, etiquette instructing, country club attending dowager she thought she knew. "So… a college fling or something?"

"Not exactly." Callie smiled softly, "Although I did know Frank then. I was fourteen when I met him, and for a while I thought our first introduction might prevent him from ever speaking to me again."

#####

" _Mr. Hardy? Mr. Hardy!"_

 _Callie followed the gaze of the balding mathematician standing with her in the front of a classroom to an unknown youth seated toward the center. He was tall, that much she could tell even seated in the cramped school desk, with brunette hair and warm brown eyes that lit a slightly flushed complexion. Those brown eyes were decidedly looking her direction. None of that seemed to be his most remarkable feature, however. One glance and she was convinced. He was gorgeous._

 _"MR. HARDY!"_

 _The boy visibly gulped when he finally heard his name, the blush across his cheeks turning a deep red. Apparently he wasn't accustomed to being in trouble in school. "Yes sir?"_

 _"Ah, you've recognized that I'm still in the classroom. How very perceptive of you. Now let's see you give those famed investigative skills a work out on discerning a response to my inquiry. Will you answer the question or do you need it repeated?"_

 _The open textbook on the boy's desk displayed an array of graphed equations which he scanned rapidly. Capitulating, he slumped further into his chair, mumbling a reply while intently studying his shoes. "Repeated, please."_

 _A few snickers emanated from his fellow students, along with a sympathetic look from a smaller sandy haired teen in the front row._

 _The teacher spoke again, clearly exasperated with his charges. "I asked if you would escort our new student back to the office to sign in properly and then walk her through her course schedule so she doesn't get lost tomorrow. It appears the desk secretary thought it would be amusing to bring her directly here without a tour or textbooks."_

 _The boy flicked his eyes to the pretty blonde source of distress near the doorway, then back to his sneakers. He hesitated, seemingly searching for a way through the tiles below. Finding none, he gathered his books. "Ah, yes sir, I can do that."_

 _"Excellent." The acerbic math instructor returned his attention to Callie. "I did choose your guide as he is generally able to catch up on missed classwork with ease, but I'm beginning to have my doubts. Return to the office if you should become separated."_

 _Walking to the chalkboard, the teacher tossed out a final comment at the departing pair. "And Mr. Hardy, I realize she is more intriguing than the mysteries of mathematics, but I'd hate to have to send a search party out for the two of you. Do try to look up from the floor."_

 _The stop in the office produced the needed textbooks and a locker assignment, but no conversation to Callie's disappointment._

 _"Can I see your schedule? That way I can show you where each classroom is." He smiled politely, but still seemed ill at ease talking to her._

 _Callie nodded, holding up the piece of paper in question. "Maybe. I propose a trade."_

 _"Such as what?"_

 _She tucked a strand of long golden hair behind an ear. "I'll show you my schedule if you'll tell me your name. Mr. Hardy is a tad formal, don't you think?"_

 _He blushed again, the tips of his ears approaching purple. "Sorry. I'm Frank, Frank Hardy – and I'm not generally an idiot."_

 _Her grin widened, deciding that maybe her reluctant escort didn't hate her at first site after all. Maybe he was shy. "Well, Mr. Frank Not-an-Idiot Hardy, I'm Callie. Pleased to meet you."_

 _"Really?" A horrified expression crossed his handsome face the instant the word left his mouth. "Uh, I mean, I'm not really myself today. Pleased to meet you, too."_

 _Yup, shy. "So, have you always lived in Bayport?"_

 _An hour later she'd seen the school, learned that Frank had been in Bayport since age five, that the teacher's crack about investigative skills was because her newfound crush had a detective father, and that he was much more comfortable if she confined her rapid fire questions to school history and tips for working with her various instructors. Anything more personal got a bare boned answer just this side of curt. Academic inquiries initiated far more detailed explanations, even inspired a cautious smile or two. As it happened, they had mostly the same classes, although Frank apparently didn't share her interest in French._

 _The bell ending the school day rang as Frank returned her to her locker, introducing her to the girl two gray metal doors down and making his escape._

 _"Callie, this is Liz Webling. She has English fourth period with you. Welcome to Bayport." His smile widened into something comfortable for the first time since they'd left math class, whether in genuine welcome or mere relief that his task was complete she couldn't tell. "I, ah, need to go and…" the grin faded as he stepped on his own shoelace, stumbling ever so slightly, "…and get my other books. Anyway, bye."_

 _Callie chatted pleasantly with the taller girl, but kept an eye on Frank as he left. He didn't go far, stopping about twenty feet away to speak to a blonde boy with bright blue eyes._

 _The blonde was slightly shorter and undeniably cute, but she still preferred Frank. After a second perusal of their features, she decided this had to be the younger brother her guide had mentioned. What was his name again? Joe? Coloring aside, there were definite similarities. Several other boys joined the group, all laughing at something the younger Hardy said._

 _"Planning on doing some flirting?"_

 _Callie spun back toward Liz, embarrassed. "I guess I was staring, huh?"_

 _Fortunately Liz seemed amused. "If you're planning on flirting with Joe Hardy, you'll have to get in line. Besides, he's still mostly oblivious to girls. He'd pay you more attention if you were a football."_

 _Callie let out an amused snort. "Actually, it's Frank that I wanted to talk to, but he's shy, I think." She surveyed the group of young males again, narrowing her eyes. Frank seemed to be the de facto leader, not the wall flower._

 _"You are talking about Frank Hardy, right?" Liz cocked an eyebrow in confusion. "He's not shy. Quiet most of the time, maybe, but he didn't have any trouble talking enough at the last debate club competition to trounce my butt – and he gave a speech at the state science fair last week."_

 _"He's smart, then?"_

 _"Uh, yeah, you could say that." Liz nodded, her freckled features returning to a pretty grin. "I know we just met, Callie, but sounds like you got it bad."_

 _Callie laughed. "Maybe I do at that." And maybe if he's only shy around me, I just might have a chance…._

 _The boys disbanded, Frank and Joe walking toward the front door and past the still gossiping girls, allowing Callie to overhear part of their conversation._

 _"Admit it, Frank. You think she's cute. Why don't you call her?" Joe was obviously enjoying pestering his sibling. "Information will have her number if it isn't in the book yet."_

 _Frank replied too softly for her to hear, but that adorable blush spread across his face again._

 _Joe's laughter rang down the hallway. "Some detective you'll make, bro. Over an hour with the girl and you don't know her last name!"_

 _#####_

Amelia laughed, too. "Not the most star crossed of introductions, I'll admit. Sounds like that math teacher was a bit of a jerk."

Callie nodded, pausing to catch her breath after her tale. "He was at that. Mr. Kilman. Goodness, I hadn't thought about him in years."

"Frank obviously asked you out anyway, bad start or not." Amelia leaned forward, elbows on her knees and chin in her hand.

"Not for a while, he didn't." Callie shook her head ruefully, recalling a semester of fruitless flirting. Frank Hardy had been in at least half of her classes and she'd become more and more enamored. Unfortunately, the confident and charming young man she saw with everyone else evaporated whenever she got within ten feet of him. Oh, he quit tripping over his toes when he had to speak to her one on one; he simply made sure that occurred as infrequently as possible. His brother's near constant teasing about 'Callie syndrome' hadn't helped either, even if he was entirely correct that Frank got tongue-tied as soon as she appeared. She'd been annoyed with Joe at the time, until she realized how close the brothers truly were. There might be a bit of sibling razzing, but Frank was much happier with Joe around, teasing and all. "If it wasn't for his mother, the whole situation might have come to nothing."

"His mother?"

"Um hmm." Callie took a sip from the water goblet, delaying an inevitable cough. "Laura Hardy knew her sons very well."

#####

 _Callie sat on the warm sand, staring out at the waves and trying very hard not to hear the conversation behind her._

 _"But Mom, why can't I trade partners with Joe? Or better yet be partners with Joe?" Frank's voice was unmistakable and Callie cocked her head._

 _"Joe is perfectly content to work with Chet. And I am perfectly content to put your father and I out of our misery," an attractive blonde woman a few years younger than her own mother replied._

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"Frank, honey, your dad and I certainly don't mind you using the telephone, but this holding the phone in one hand and that girl's number in the other for an hour a night isn't especially productive. Obviously you want to talk to her, so here's your opportunity."_

 _"I do talk to her, Mom."_

 _"Yes, you do. Whenever she's at the Morton's visiting Iola and you can't get out of it, or whenever all your friends are together as a group."_

 _"JoesalittlesnitchandIllgethimbackforthis…" The mutter wasn't all that comprehensible to Callie, or apparently to Laura either._

 _"What did you say, young man?"_

 _Frank shrugged, an embarrassed expression on his face. "I said Joe's a little snitch. I'm sorry."_

 _Laura ran her fingers over Frank's cheek before giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. "I don't think that's all you said, but I'm going to let that slide. Your brother did tell me you seem reluctant to talk to Callie, but only because I cornered him. Now, I believe Miss Shaw is waiting on you."_

 _By the time Frank walked down the beach and sat down, Callie had turned away, determined to hide any hurt at the thought Frank preferred to spend his time with Chet. It's not like she'd requested Frank as a partner. His mother had arranged that._

 _"Hi, Callie."_

 _"Hi, Frank."_

 _Funny, he didn't look like he'd rather be with Chet._

 _The moment stretched out awkwardly, both of them seated in a twelve foot square of damp sand outlined in biodegradable paint. Callie finally took a deep breath, determined to start a conversation. "Your mother organizes this every spring?"_

 _Frank nodded, deciding this seemed like a safe topic. "Yeah. Well, my mom and a few other ladies. It's a charity drive for the Bayport Children's Home."_

 _Callie looked surprised. "Children's Home? You mean like an orphanage? I didn't think those existed anymore. I mean, don't most couples wait to adopt practically forever?"_

 _"Couples wait to adopt a baby forever. Older kids still need a place to go if foster care isn't available, although I don't think orphanage is the preferred term these days. Some of the children there never get adopted and really need someone who cares. Mom has volunteered there for years."_

 _An odd thought swept through Callie's head about just how little Frank resembled Laura. Still, his jawline and mouth were a lot like his brother's. "You're not adopted, are you?"_

 _Frank chuckled. "You've never met my dad?"_

 _"No, why?"_

 _Frank pulled a family photograph out of his wallet, silently handing it to her._

 _Fenton Hardy waved at Callie from the small square, looking every inch like a forty five year old Frank._

 _"I guess you're not, then." Callie grinned, returning the picture._

 _"Nope." Frank relaxed a smidge. Maybe talking to Callie wasn't as terrifying as he'd imagined. "Hardy genes run deep – Joe's just the resident nonconformist. The Children's Home director actually awards the prizes for all the events."_

 _"How's that work, exactly?" Callie leaned back on an elbow, admiring the view out over the sea – and the view right in front of her, too._

 _"Well, for the races, it's pretty easy obviously. There are four age divisions for the 5K road race and two for the 10K, and three age divisions for the five hundred meter ocean swim. All the director has to do for those is hand out the ribbons for the fastest times." Frank opted not to mention that a few of last year's ribbons were hanging on his wall at home. There were a few on Joe's wall, too. "The only real judging involved is for the sand dig, the pie baking, and the children's art contest."_

 _"Best pie and prettiest picture I understand, but I'm not sure what I've gotten myself into with this sand dig."_

 _Frank snickered. "Yet you signed up anyway."_

 _Callie couldn't help a blush of her own. Frank Hardy was actually teasing her. Finally. "Yeah, I did."_

 _"We dig and find whatever we can. We can't dig more than three feet deep and we have to keep our removed sand within our square. There's a prize for the largest object, the prettiest one, and the strangest. We have an hour."_

 _"It seems like we're mostly going to find seashells."_

 _"Usually that's true. All three prizes were shells of one sort or another last time, but Chet and his dad found an old ship anchor one year."_

 _"I take it that was the largest item." Callie inched closer to Frank._

 _"Definitely. It was an antique – weighed almost five hundred pounds! It took everybody on the beach to ultimately unearth the thing." Frank held up a pair of short handled shovels. "Almost time."_

 _Callie grabbed one, unable to reply before a sharp buzzer sounded. Both teenagers rapidly began to dig, setting aside anything with prize potential._

 _Forty minutes into the hour, they'd accumulated a small pile of attractive shells and an interesting piece of driftwood, but nothing spectacular. A team up the beach had uncovered a pair of baseball cleats oddly spray painted purple with green glitter that would almost certainly win strangest object, and another team had a commercial fishing net, so the largest award was likely sewn up as well. That left Frank and Callie on a hunt for something pretty. Frank didn't consider himself much of an expert on what constituted a pretty seashell, and said as much, but Callie thought maybe she could come up with a suitable entry._

 _Callie dug faster as the last minutes wound down until a particularly enthusiastic toss of her shovel flung sand all over Frank's head. The brunette sputtered, wiping the mess out of his face._

 _"Oh no… Frank, I'm so sorry! Did it get in your eyes?"_

 _"Eyes, no. Teeth, yes. Yick." Frank shook his head like an oversized hound, unintentionally spraying some of the grains back at her. It didn't help much, the previously dark hair still more beige than brown. Running his fingers through his now gritty waves, he started to laugh._

 _"I am sorry, really." Callie struggled not to laugh too, but it didn't work. Giving into the urge, she giggled as she brushed sand of his hair. "You know, I'm not so sure about this look for you."_

 _"No? Maybe sand looks better on girls." Frank sprinkled a few grains over her ponytail._

 _"Hey, I'm already a blonde. I don't need that to have fun!" Callie playfully threw a handful back at him, hitting him in the chest._

 _Frank moved closer, depositing the next handful down the back of her collar, still laughing. "And I do?"_

 _"You tell me." Callie wriggled to shake the sand off her back, flinging another load at Frank and trying to duck at the same time._

 _The next few volleys flew furiously between the pair, sand finding its way into swim trunks and t shirts, and if the tilt of his head was any indication, Frank's ear. Callie collapsed onto her back, laughing too hard to maintain the battle._

 _An air horn ended the less personal contest and Callie suddenly felt Frank clearing sand from her bangs._

 _"Truce?" He sounded as breathless as she felt._

 _She sat up, realizing too late this left her inches from his nose. The laughter stopped for both of them. "Uh, yeah, truce."_

 _"Good."_

 _Her eyes locked on his. "Good."_

 _Her lashes fluttered closed a split second before she felt the softest of kisses against her lips. She slipped a hand behind his neck, nervous fingers twining in the edge of his hair._

 _Frank pulled away slightly, kissing her again as he did so. "We have an audience."_

 _Callie's cheeks flamed red. She should have thought of that five minutes ago. Then again, there hadn't been much thinking involved. "Yeah, I guess we should pick out one of these shells and take it up to the entry table._

 _Frank shook his head, reaching out to hold both her hands and tipping his forehead forward against hers. "Don't bother. Little brother's going to end up with the ribbon this time. He and Chet found a ruby earring a few minutes ago."_

 _Callie couldn't work up too much disappointment about the lost prize. "So Joe and Chet found the prettiest thing here? Doesn't really seem like their forte, does it?"_

 _Frank smiled, staring at the petite girl he'd covered in sand. "I didn't say that. I said Joe's going to get the ribbon." Frank risked another quick kiss. "I found the prettiest thing here."_

 _#####  
#####_

 _#####_

to be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone for the reviews and reading along, I'm so pleased you're enjoying this!**

 **CHAPTER 3**

"That's so sweet! You fell in love right there on the beach and never looked back." Amelia pretty much had an all-points bulletin out on Cupid, convinced that romance had to be the best thing in the world; sugar coated bliss with a cherry on top.

"Ah, it wasn't quite that easy. Even a world viewed through rose colored glasses has thorns, Amelia."

"Well, yeah, of course… I just meant… he sounds wonderful."

Callie shook her head at the seventeen year old's simplistic assessment, suppressing a wistful sigh. "He was. Ending up apart was my fault."

"You had an argument?"

"More like I did something to hurt him, twice. The first time wasn't intentional, but it was extraordinarily stupid." Callie surrendered to a fit of coughing, dusk easing into twilight outside the window while she regained her breath.

"What do you mean, you hurt him?" Amelia couldn't picture her disagreement-diffusing, decorum-enforcing nana doing anything spiteful. "Wouldn't he forgive you? Is that why you didn't end up married?"

Callie quickly shook her head. "No, I literally hurt him, or at least got him hurt… and he did forgive me. We weren't engaged at the time, or even out of high school. His parents had taken him on a vacation overseas, along with Joe and a pair of our friends."

The water pitcher rocked sideways as Callie attempted to pour herself another glass. Amelia hastily intervened, wrapping the older woman's hand around the goblet.

"Thank you. I'm afraid this is a very long story, and definitely not one of my finer moments. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"How about just the high points?" Somehow Amelia knew this was an important part of understanding why her grandmother was relaying events that occurred more than seventy years ago.

Callie nodded. "The low points would be more accurate. They'd gone to an idyllic island to surf and explore, but as soon as they arrived, the country exploded into political rebellion. Frank was arrested by soldiers who accused him and his father of working for the prior government. By the time his family managed to drag him back home, he'd spent a month between barbaric thugs and jungle field medicine. He needed weeks of hospitalization and physical therapy."

"How awful!" The teen shuddered. "You read stuff like that, but it doesn't happen to people you know…"

A wry look settled on Callie's face. "You never knew Frank and Joe."

"True. I don't see what it had to do with you, though."

"That part didn't. One of the boys that went with them, Chet, was still in an island prison, and Frank's brother and father went back to find him. To protect Frank while they were gone, the Hardys staged a funeral to fake his death… and I discovered it was an act."

Callie paused, wondering exactly how to condense the rest. "My closest friend, Vanessa, was dating Joe by then."

Her granddaughter interrupted. "I thought your best friend's name was Iola. The one with the frog? Didn't you say she dated Joe?"

Callie choked on her drink, sputtering. _That's one story I refuse to tell._ "This was later, during our senior year. Vanessa was petrified that Joe was going to die like Frank had, that he'd simply stop fighting without his brother. My parents thought I needed time away to grieve and took me on a trip south, but I kept in touch with Nessa everyday by computer, typing messages back and forth. Every day, she spiraled further into unreasoning fear – until I finally told her. Joe couldn't die just like Frank, because Frank wasn't dead. Unfortunately the message was intercepted by the island militia and that was enough to reignite their hunt. Frank was recaptured in the United States by hired goons, and it nearly killed him - again. It was my fault. Facing him when he arrived home was horrible. I was convinced he'd hate me, and it might have been easier in the long run if he had."

#####

 _Callie sat on the top step of the Hardy home, the fruit tray she was carrying forgotten, expecting a very difficult reunion. She knew what she'd done. Joe and Vanessa had spoken everyday on the phone, but Frank hadn't asked to talk to her. Not once._

 _She tapped lightly on the door, half thinking he wouldn't answer._

 _"Come in."_

 _God, he looked awful. Probably not the best opening remark. She sank onto the edge of the bed, one hand lightly tracing the edge of his jaw. "I'm so sorry."_

 _Frank flinched away from her, unaware of the subtle motion. "Me too, Cal."_

 _Her hands fluttered at the edge of the blanket, unsure where to go. "Vanessa seemed so upset and worried, and before I knew it I was telling her you were ok. I wouldn't have told anyone else, I swear."_

 _He forced himself to hold her hand, torn between kissing away the tear on her face and demanding she leave. "Messaging's a front p-page ad in the paper, Callie, you know that."_

 _"What I did... that's really how they found you?" Her question was small, lost in a series of nervous swallows._

 _He wanted to lie. She looked so sad. One lie and it would all be gone. He couldn't. "That's how."_

 _"I... I don't know what to say... I was devastated after the funeral, so Joe told me. I wanted to do the same for Vanessa..."_

 _Bringing his brother's name into this was a mistake and Frank's face hardened. "What Joe did isn't the s-same."_

 _The reaction surprised her, although perhaps it shouldn't have. "No, I guess not. I'm sorry... ...Frank, I love you... I am so, so sorry..."_

 _"I love you, too, C-Callie." He kissed the hand he was holding, searching her expression._

 _His exhaustion was painted across his face in pinched brushstrokes and a palette of purple, but there wasn't any resolution in his eyes. "Can I come back tomorrow?"_

 _It would be so much easier to say yes, to surrender to an aching need for comfort and familiarity and home wherever he could find it. "I don't think that's a g-good idea."_

 _"Are you going to be able to forgive me?"_

 _"I d-don't know..." His lashes drifted closed. "I want to, but I don't know..."_

 _#####_

"That was in the summer just prior to our high school graduation. Snow was flying before we worked everything out."

"You aren't the one that hurt him. Yes, the computer message was a mistake, but the revolutionaries were to blame for everything that happened. Everybody says things they shouldn't at times, or does things that are dumb in retrospect." As colossal an error as her grandmother had made, Amelia found herself defending her.

"That's almost exactly what Frank said when we finally quit trying to out-stubborn ourselves and admitted we missed each other." Callie drew a crocheted afghan over her chilled legs. "He'd known from the beginning who the culprits were, but they were either dead or out of his reach. He could have blamed his father for taking him to that island in the first place, or his brother for not finding him sooner, or even for providing some of the same information to the militants that I did, but - "

"Wait. Joe told someone Frank wasn't dead too? Then this truly wasn't your fault." Amelia sounded indignant on her behalf now.

Callie raised a placating hand. "One of the people Joe told was me. Other than that, he stumbled through some incoherent version of the story after he was kidnapped and drugged."

"So you were dating someone whose whole family got involved in international revolution and terrorism… how could I not know about this?"

"It makes for awkward dinner conversation. The girl who was either brave or foolish enough for all that disappeared ages ago." Callie gestured weakly at the refined room. "She didn't have much place here. In any event, Frank was so upset and frustrated between his injuries, not being able to protect Joe… or me, and having to delay college a year that he needed some sort of outlet, somewhere to direct all that anger. I think I was simply the safest target. He avoided me for the better part of six months."

"And you were okay with that?"

"Yes." Callie was surprised by her answer. "He couldn't have survived if he'd alienated his father or Joe, I understood that even then, and if it kept him sane to blame me while he put himself back together, then, yes. I should have been there beside him regardless. We probably would have had a few blow ups if I'd persisted, but I should have been there- should have had the courage to face the aftermath I helped create. Instead, I let him push me aside. Lashing out in that situation was normal, but I guess none of us ever let Frank be merely normal. You know the old expression steady as a rock?"

Amelia nodded.

"Everyone in Frank's life saw him more as a monolith. He probably felt he had to live up to that. In the end, he apologized to me for the whole thing. I was a major factor in him nearly having an up close and personal encounter with St. Peter, and he apologized to me."

Amelia appeared confused to her grandmother. "Neither one of you were wrong, were you?"

"I think you'll find the world seldom divides that neatly. I hope you keep that in mind over the next few weeks."

"Why?"

Callie toyed with the end of her colorless braid, considering. "The best answer to that may be to finish telling you about Frank and I." She wound the box again, allowing the flowing strains of the waltz to wash away fragments of bitter memory. She didn't need them anymore.

"He was going to put my engagement ring in this music box when he proposed."

"That's not what happened?"

Callie let out an unexpected snort. "No, not at all. Frank was a perfectionist, and a closet romantic. Not that many people got to see the romantic side, but he'd decided that if he asked me to marry him, it had to be an absolutely perfect night. Then he proceeded to make himself half sick fretting about it. I got the whole story in bits and pieces from Frank, Joe, and Vanessa over the next few weeks… but I'm getting ahead of myself."

She took a deep breath, recalling one of the oddest nights of her life. Deliriously happy, but odd. "We were both completing college when he proposed, but he was staying in the city to attend graduate school at Columbia and I was moving back to Bayport. I'd gone on a graduation trip with my parents, but something seemed off with him before I left. In fact, I was starting to get alarmed. He was acting so strange."

"He was sharing an apartment with Joe for school, but they were fairly serious detectives by then as well. When he got increasingly jumpy, I initially assumed it was a bad case. I asked Vanessa to do a little prying for me, though, and all they were working on was insurance fraud, nothing that would have upset Frank."

Callie's speech halted again, her needed rest breaks lengthening as the evening wore on. "I decided as soon as I got home from the beach, I was going to talk to him until I figured it out. I knew he'd call and invite me over the second I returned; he always did – except this time that phone came from Joe."

Amelia drew in a sharp breath. "Was Frank alright?"

"Joe claimed he was, but I was still worried. I went straight to their apartment, but Frank wouldn't answer the door."

#####

 _Callie knocked louder, surprised when no one answered. "Frank? Joe? Open up."_

 _"Cal?" A long pause. "Callie? Come on in."_

 _"It's locked, Frank."_

 _"Isn't that the truth?"_

 _"What? I didn't hear you."_

 _"Never mind. Use your key."_

 _Callie dug through her purse, glad she always kept the spare handy. Closing the door behind her, she looked cautiously around the den. "Frank?"_

 _"I'm in the kitchen."_

 _Callie darted in there, anxious to see him after her trip. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, arms wrapping around his shoulders and then sliding down to his elbows. She stopped abruptly when he made no move to hug her back._

 _She took a step backward, noting the rumpled t shirt and gym shorts. Frank was generally more particular than that, especially if he invited her to come over after a week's absence._

 _"Frank?"_

 _He sighed. "It's kind of a long story, Cal-"_

 _Before he could finish she spotted the way he was standing, rapidly moving to his side and discovering handcuffs chaining him to the refrigerator._

 _"Frank! Are you ok? Who did this? Where's Joe? Is he ok? Should I call the police?"_

 _"Callie, stop. No, don't call the police. I'm fine, Joe's the one who did this, and as to whether he's ok, I sincerely hope not."_

 _"Joe did this? But, why?" Callie seemed to be checking Frank over, not reassured everything was all right. Her fingers made a quick path over his face to trail through his hair, her eyes never leaving his._

 _"That's sort of where the long story part comes in. I promise to explain it if you'll unlock these first. The key's on the counter." Frank tipped his head sideways toward the stove._

 _"Yeah, of course." Callie was a little flustered but leaned across his chest to reach the silver key laying there. Her shoulder grazed his chest, an unexpected edge jabbing her shoulder. Her eyes flicked to the hard object._

 _"FRANK! Is that? Is that?..." Callie sucked in a big breath, realizing she was well past making a fool of herself. Even so, she couldn't help an excited little hop._

 _A little hop that knocked her off balance, leading to a graceless scramble not to fall over. A quick grab at the counter kept her from falling – and knocked the key into the crack between the two appliances._

 _Callie looked at her boyfriend for long seconds before dropping her eyes back the platinum band and sparkling stone at his neck. She made an effort at sounding less like an insane eighth grade cheerleader. "What is that?"_

 _"It's an engagement ring, Callie."_

 _"Yeah, I see that it is. Maybe the better question is whose is that?" At least now Frank wasn't the only one whose hands were shaking._

 _"This is so not how I wanted to do this, Cal. It wasn't supposed to be this way." Frank slumped a smidge, straightening when he was unable to get to one knee. "The ring's yours if you'll have it." He paused, voice uncharacteristically husky when he continued. "Callie Shaw, I love you. Will you marry me?"_

 _Callie leaned into him, both hands on the sides of his face as she kissed him. She put a finger across his lips when he started to say something else, reaching behind him to untie the string. She slipped the ring on her finger before she answered, blinking away a tear. "Yes. Yes, I will."_

 _For several minutes the handcuffs didn't seem much of a hindrance, Callie happy to plant kisses along Frank's jaw, fingers again lost in his hair. Finally she pulled away._

 _"Cal? Where are you going?" Frank sounded vaguely breathless._

 _"For the key, silly. And I love you, too."_

 _"Oh. Right." Frank had completely forgotten he was stuck._

 _"Uh, problem. I can't reach it. Do you have a spare one?"_

 _"Yeah, but it's with Joe. Can you see it?"_

 _"I can see it fine, but my hand is too wide to reach."_

 _"There's a yardstick behind the door; see if you can use that to get it out."_

 _Callie nodded, retrieving the stick and then dropping to the floor. If she stayed to the left, the angle of the narrow opening was wrong. Laughing slightly, she moved to the right, leaning over Frank's feet and putting her face flat on the floor to get a better view. She scooted her knees forward under her, trying not to squash Frank's toes._

 _"I need another inch. Step over so I can get between you and the fridge and I might be able to get it."_

 _Frank did so, trying that and thirty other maneuvers before they finally admitted there was no reaching the fool thing. He'd somehow ended up with a foot on either side of her waist, one of Callie's hands around his ankle for balance as she stretched the other arm as far as it would go._

 _"Think you're stuck until Joe comes back, love. Sorry." Callie didn't sound sorry, interrupting the fit of giggles that had hit them both only long enough to kiss him some more. "What was that game with the colored circles to stand on? I'm about tangled up enough for that."_

 _"I don't remember. You know, we may have missed our dinner reservation, but the flowers and the wine are here. Guess you should at least have those."_

 _"Trying to bribe me to leave you be, Mr. Hardy? Seems to me you are going to have to put up with me for the evening. Captive audience and all that." She winked at him, beginning to see some advantages to this particular method of proposal._

 _"Longer than that, I hope, Callie. Longer than that." Frank shook off the serious tone to return the teasing she was clearly enjoying. "Now that wine's in the refrigerator if you can reach it."_

 _"And who's supposed to hold your glass for you when I do, pray tell?" Callie reached around his waist, worming her hand into the slight gap in the door he could create by leaning forward._

 _Frank jumped when she accidently tickled him, hopelessly trying to shift sideways when Callie felt the flinch and went to tickling him in earnest. "I'm sure we can work something out. Ooh, stop that! Callie, stop it… I'll not forget this you know…" Frank's laughter undermined his words. "You're a lot more ticklish than I am. You'll regret this!"_

 _Callie raised an eyebrow as she twisted around to look at him, impish grin spreading ear to ear. "There's nothing about this evening that I'm going to regret, Frank Hardy. Not ever."_

#

Callie reached for another tissue, again dabbing at her eyes. "And I never have."

#####

#####

#####

to be continued...

Authors note: The flashback sections in this chapter are quoted from Charades and Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace, respectively.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to everyone who is reviewing and reading, it means a lot. Just one more chapter after this one!

CHAPTER **4**

"Nana?"

Callie blinked heavily, clearing away the unwelcome catnap. The sky had gone ebony, the glittery pinpricks of starlight unexpectedly evoking childhood evenings spent pursuing fireflies. "Sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean to doze."

Amelia shifted to the floor, taking Callie's gnarled fingers into her own. "It's late. Why don't I help you to bed, and we can talk some more in the morning?"

Callie glanced at the oversized bed. The beautifully carved bedstead had seen her through sixty years of marriage; intimate nights with her husband, sleepless ones cuddling her newborn sons, playful mornings tickling a gaggle of children and then grandchildren, warm evenings reading and sketching curled in the mountain of pillows, fearful afternoons nursing a failing Robert, and finally long days escaping an all-encompassing loneliness. It was enough. There was no need to return to its sheltering confines now.

She shook her head with more determination than her granddaughter would have guessed she possessed. "No, Amelia. I'd rather finish my story, if you don't mind."

The teenager studied the frail woman on the chaise. Her pale complexion was much greyer than a few hours prior, and Amelia wasn't at all certain it was the changing light. A pinched tightness had settled around her eyes, and somehow even those seemed increasingly opaque. "Are you sure? A little rest…"

"No."

The softly ticking clock on the nightstand measured out their standoff until Amelia surrendered. "Ok, then. What happened? You never married him?"

"No, I didn't." Callie absently rubbed the polished band on her left hand; the princess cut diamond now connected with a delicate cord to her wrist to prevent it from falling off. "Frank liked the idea of a holiday wedding, but I was afraid I couldn't plan a sufficiently extravagant event in six months, so I convinced him to wait. I found a temporary job in New York instead of returning to Bayport and rented an apartment there, a few miles from Frank and Joe. It was a wonderful winter and spring, the happiest one I ever had."

"There's a magic to Christmas in New York – the lights, skating at Rockefeller Center, carriage rides in the snow in Central Park. Frank was exuberant and playful to the point that some days I thought he'd traded half his brain with Joe! We finally settled on a guest list somewhere between my we'll-need-to-rent-out-Yankee-stadium and Frank's thirty-people-ought-to-do-it; I subjected my friends to trying on overpriced dresses in every shade of salmon imaginable; and Joe promised to stop planning bachelor parties that would land them both in San Quentin. It was all down to picking a date."

"Frank suggested the last weekend in May. He could defend his thesis before that and college graduation season would be wrapped up. A very practical suggestion, but I'd kicked practical to the curb for fantasy land. I was scripting a fairytale. May is the worst of allergy season for me and I had my heart set on exchanging vows outdoors. There was a local estate there built to resemble a castle, and I had visions of rambling stone walls covered in greenery and flowers. Those visions did not include breaks for sneezing or allergy med induced snoozes. It's amazing the man still wanted to marry me at all, between my planning anxieties and turning down dates based on potentially puffy eyes."

"Eventually we selected the third weekend in July. Frank acquiesced with good humor, telling me that any decision that resulted in me becoming Mrs. Frank Hardy suited him just fine. We went out for a romantic dinner the night we set the date and he gave me this music box." Callie extracted a fine chain from the box, holding it aloft so that its diamond pendant dangled. "And this. It belonged to his grandmother Rose and he said he had it on good authority from both our mothers that it was the perfect necklace for my dress. The only hitch was employment – his, not mine."

"As a detective?"

Callie sipped at her water, nodding. "Frank hadn't intended on beginning to work for his father's agency until after our honeymoon, but when I delayed the wedding until July, that changed."

"Why?"

"Frank was uncomfortable lounging around his parents' house for two months at their expense. Not that Fenton or Laura would have cared." Callie smiled at the thought of Frank's parents. They'd been delightful.

"But he had an apartment already."

"An apartment tied to his scholarship and he was finishing his master's."

"In only a year?" Amelia had just noticed the time discrepancy.

"Actually yes, he started the classes in undergrad, but that's beside the point. Frank returned to Bayport, rented an apartment there and began working."

Amelia quirked an eyebrow upward. "Why was that such a big deal? I mean he would have started that same job either way, right?"

Callie nodded; a stilted, reluctant movement. "Right."

"Something happened to him, didn't it?"

"No, not to Frank." A trickle of water wandered across her cheekbone, ignored. "Not to him. If I'd simply tucked a tissue into my gown and walked down that aisle in May… but I didn't…"

#

 _"I won't be gone that long, Cal." Frank reclined over half the couch in Callie's living room, stroking her hair. White cardboard containers dotted the coffee table, the remnants of takeout Chinese food, and the occasional satisfied rumble emanated from a cat sharing their sofa. Reflected candles glowed in the feline's half closed eyes and Casablanca flickered on the television screen, barely audible and extraneous._

 _"I thought you were going to wait until after we came back from Belize." Callie's murmured protest was lost as she snuggled closer to Frank, one palm flat on his chest, feeling the strong heartbeat below._

 _Frank pulled her the rest of the way into his lap, staring intently into the hazel-green eyes. "I promise I will be back well before the wedding, baby. I just can't mooch off my folks; I don't feel right about it, especially since Joe can't work much with that stupid cast. It's not that I wouldn't rather be home with you."_

 _Callie kissed him, lacing the fingers of one hand through his. "I just wish this case wasn't overseas."_

 _"Me too." Another kiss. "I love you. I will swim home if I have too, but I will be here. You know that, right?" Frank's other hand was now roaming over the small of her back, subtly nudging the white eyelet tank northward._

 _Callie sighed, the sound every bit as content as the purring cat, before she answered. "I do."_

 _"Save that line for July." The kisses got longer as the interludes of conversation got shorter._

 _Callie laughed slightly, the chuckle muted as her lips traced the angles of his face before trailing into fluttery kisses down his neck. "Deal."_

 _The pair lost themselves to increasingly urgent touches, Frank finally the one to break away, flushed and breathless. The hand on Callie's back was still there, admittedly higher, but the other one seemed to be undoing the third button on her shirt._

 _Callie followed his gaze to his fingers, blushing. She didn't remember him undoing the first two, but then she didn't quite remember him discarding his own shirt either. Being wrapped in Frank Hardy's arms, kissing by candlelight, tended to addle a girl's brain. She closed her hand around his, brushing another kiss across his knuckles. "It's ok."_

 _"No, it's really late, third time this week I've left after one. I better go home." Frank said all the right things to depart, but he didn't move._

 _Callie shifted backwards, both hands coming to rest on broad shoulders. "I don't have to work in the morning, you can sleep on the flight, and you'll be gone for weeks. I don't care that it's late."_

 _Her next kiss brought a low moan from Frank. "Cal, baby, you've got to stop that." He lightly pushed her away, staring at the half undone blouse._

 _"What?" Callie's question was hushed and expectant, not confused._

 _"Hmm?"_

 _"I know that look, Frank. You want to say something and aren't sure how."_

 _He coiled and uncoiled a strand of long blonde hair as he answered. "Every night I leave a little later and every night it's a little harder to go. I -" He let out a long breath, "Tonight, I don't want to go. Kiss me again like that and I won't."_

 _Callie sat there, tipping his chin with a finger when he didn't look up. She slowly leaned forward, very deliberately repeating the kiss. "Then don't."_

 _Frank didn't say anything, scooping Callie from the couch and standing simultaneously, dark brown eyes never leaving hazel ones as he carried her down the hall. Casablanca could finish watching itself._

 _#####_

"That was the first time he ever, ah…stayed over?"

A hint of color returned to Callie's face. "Yes. He left the next morning, on a flight for who knew where. It was early June, and he was supposed to return home July the twelfth."

"Was he late?"

"No, early… but it was later than I needed."

Amelia shook her head. "I don't understand."

"At the time, neither did I."

#####

 _"There is nothing in the mail worth having, you know that Fudgesicle?" Callie dropped the stack of assorted junk mail on the entry table and scratched the cat behind the ears. It was only noon, and already she'd been to a dress fitting, met the caterer, again, and had three phone calls from Liz Webling because the floral hairclips selected for the ceremony wouldn't stay in her hair. Why Liz had to pixie cut her tresses three weeks before this wedding she'd never know._

 _"The only saving grace, Fudgie, is that tomorrow is the Fourth of July. Even the wedding planner is taking the day off, thank goodness." She hung her keys up on the hook by the door and slid out of her sandals. "If it wasn't for all this hullabaloo, I could've gone with Mom and Dad on the boat today. What do you think about that?"_

 _The cat stretched, arching his back in the air, and stalked away._

 _"Ah, not a big fan of water. Sorry, I forgot."_

 _"Callie?"_

 _She whirled around, her purse clattering to the floor at the unexpected noise. "JOE?! Crud you scared me. What are you doing here? How'd you get in?"_

 _Her usually irrepressible soon-to-be brother-in-law crossed the floor silently, extending both hands to her. Even his voice was subdued. "Come sit with me, Callie."_

 _Her golden tan instantly paled to parchment. "F-Frank?"_

 _"No! No, Frank is fine." Joe sat on the sofa, tugging her down beside him. He kept a firm grip on one hand, unconsciously nibbling at his other thumb. "Something is wrong, though, Cal."_

 _The pause intensified, Callie increasingly frightened as Joe hesitated. "Whatever it is, tell me."_

 _"Con Riley called me from the police station to come get you. He thought it might be better than if he sent a cruiser. There was an accident this morning, out on the water. Your parents… God, Callie I am so sorry. They're gone."_

 _"My parents? No. You're mistaken, Joe, they're out on the boat for the holiday weekend. They're not… not…"_

 _"I'm sorry. A larger boat struck theirs and it capsized. That's all I know."_

 _"But they're good swimmers… and Dad is very careful out on the bay… no, they're not dead… not… no….No….. NO….NONONONONO….."_

 _Joe pulled her close, wrapping strong arms around her as she wept the mantra into his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"_

 _Callie was numb by the time they left the morgue, Joe carefully guiding her back to the car. He'd called Vanessa and she was waiting for them in Frank's childhood home._

 _"W-Why are we here?" Callie's eyes roved the familiar cream and pale green living room as if she'd never seen it before._

 _Vanessa stood, hugging her friend tightly. "I brought some of your clothes, Cal, so you can stay here a few days. You shouldn't be by yourself."_

 _The answering nod was perfunctory. "Oh, ok… Frank… I need Frank."_

 _Joe shot a look at his father. Fenton and Laura had entered quietly from the kitchen, hoping to offer what comfort they could to the stricken girl._

 _Unfortunately, Fenton shook his head. "We haven't been able to contact him yet, honey. Joe and I will keep trying."_

 _Ultimately, it took six days to track her fiancée down. Six exhausting, horrible days. The fourth was the hardest. That was the day she went to her parents' funeral… alone._

 _#####_

 _#####_

 _#####_

to be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you so much to BeeBee18, BMSH, julzdagger88, EvergreenDreamweaver, and CherylAnn, reading the reviews for this has picked up my spirits and gotten me plotting tales again. Alas, we come to the end...

CHAPTER **5**

 _The door clicked closed. Callie hardly noticed, her arms wound tightly about her folded knees, the black linen skirt she'd put on the day before yesterday wadded beneath her fingers. Either Frank was finally home or there was an axe murderer in her apartment. It didn't make much difference which._

 _"Callie?" Frank knelt, tenderly touching the side of her face. She flinched at the contact, her back stiffening against the leg of the chair. "Cal? I'm so sorry."_

 _She didn't say anything, staring mindlessly at the floor._

 _"It's me, Callie. Talk to me? Please?" Frank waited for a response, eventually shifting to sit on the worn carpet beside her, maintaining the soft strokes over her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry." The words were inadequate, but there was nothing else to say._

 _She dropped her head to his shoulder long minutes later. "They're gone, Frank. Just… gone."_

 _"I know, baby, I know." He wrapped his arms around her, whispering against her hair. "I love you."_

 _Callie blinked, suddenly aware of the strong embrace. Squinting against the invasive sunlight, she unclenched a fistful of tear-sodden dark green shirt. It had been night when he'd arrived; she was certain of that. She was stiff, and oddly chilled. Her eyes widened when she finally looked at Frank._

 _He was intently watching her, worry and sorrow etched in his eyes. A greenish black bruise extended from one eyebrow across his nose, camouflaging a small line of sutures. Swaths of dirt crusted the olive t shirt and pants, and scattered clumps of dried mud now surrounded the tread of heavy hiking boots. She'd never seen them before, but they very obviously weren't new. A jagged rip ran down one leg of the pants, a scant amount of blood dried along the edges._

 _"Frank?" Fear laced the word. Everything was falling apart. Everything._

 _"I'm fine, Callie, really. I was just trying to hurry home once Joe told me." He lowered one arm, casually tucking it by his side, but not before the she spotted the newly scarred skin._

 _Callie disentangled herself from her fiancée, trembling. "But -"_

 _"Shh. I am fine. It's you I'm worried about." He stood, pulling her to the couch. "When was the last time you ate, Cal? Or slept?"_

 _"I… I don't know."_

 _Frank nodded, wiping her newest tears away with the pad of his thumb. "Stay here."_

 _He emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later, two steaming cups in his hands. Joe said he'd gotten her to eat a few bites after the funeral. Actually, that meant she'd eaten more recently than he had if you disregarded a stale package of crackers scrounged out of the plane he'd flown back. "Here."_

 _"I'm not hungry."_

 _"Humor me."_

 _Callie sighed, accepting the tea. She'd finished it before she realized that he'd padded back to the pantry, his feet now bare. She frowned at the muffins and jam he placed on the coffee table._

 _"Try one?" He selected one from the tray, nudging another her direction._

 _She picked it up, chewing. One couldn't hurt, and it might give her time to think. She hadn't done enough of that the last two days, oblivious and sitting in the dark. Now Frank was here, gently guiding her back to reality. It wasn't somewhere she wanted to go._

 _She managed to choke down half of the bread and a second cup of tea, but the swirling thoughts in her head wouldn't coalesce into what she wanted to say. Certainly not into anything that remotely conveyed everything she felt. Devastation was most prominent, but other emotions lurked below - fear, hopelessness, relief, resignation… betrayal?_

 _She didn't remember falling asleep, but clearly she had. Her head was nestled on Frank's knee, said knee now covered in clean blue jeans. She plucked at the fabric, shooting him a mildly curious glance._

 _"Vanessa brought me some things. Said she might become a valet."_

 _"You didn't sleep?" It was night again outside._

 _"Didn't need to. I wanted to be sure you were ok." Frank kissed her on the forehead. "Are you up to eating anything else?"_

 _"No. The whole idea sets my stomach churning right now." Come to think of it, the existence of food had seemed unnecessary for well over a week. "Maybe I'll go take a shower."_

 _Frank nodded, stretching as he stood up. "I'll be right here."_

 _Callie gave him a very peculiar look, eventually shrugging and trudging toward the bathroom. She peeled off the grey blouse and black skirt she'd been wearing the last three days, stepping under the water. If only peeling off the despair encasing her was as easy._

 _"Feel better?"_

 _She'd bundled up in a thick robe inappropriate to the July weather, damp hair spread across her back. "Not really."_

 _Frank hugged her to him, chagrined. Of course she didn't feel better. "I'm sorry I wasn't with you for the funeral. I can't imagine if my folks… never mind. That train of thought isn't going to help either of us."_

 _"I needed you there." The words held no belligerence or accusation, just simple, raw fact._

 _"I know." He'd bent or broken border laws in four countries, bribed a third world airport official with his watch, told three CIA officials exactly what they could do with their timetable, and traded his college class ring in lieu of plane rental to get home as quickly as he had, but it didn't matter. Callie had desperately needed him, and he wasn't there. "I'm sorry."_

 _"Doesn't change it."_

 _"No, it doesn't."_

 _An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, part of Callie wanting to cling to him and bawl like a little girl again, and part struggling to come to terms with this man who was so nearly her husband. She loved him. Desperately in ways she couldn't describe or explain, every fiber of her soul belonged to Frank. There was no doubt in her heart that he felt the same way. It radiated in his gaze when he looked at her, flowed in his hands when they touched. She was amazingly blessed… and yet…_

 _And yet when the darkest moment of her life came along, he was nowhere to be found… apparently doing something that was quite likely to result in not returning at all. She had thought she understood all this. She'd talked it over with her future mother-in-law more than once, and she'd spent hours chatting with Vanessa about the chosen profession of the Hardy men. Why was it so different now?_

 _The answer was startlingly obvious once she found it. Her parents. It wasn't so much that Frank hadn't been there for her when her parents died. It was that she'd naively assumed they would always be there. Laura could turn to the boys when Fenton was in danger or to Fenton if she feared for her sons. Vanessa relied on her mother. Frank and Joe depended on each other. Callie… Callie always imagined her parents would be right there, a steady foundation if her husband was away, or injured, or worse. Now that was gone._

 _Callie felt herself shaking, horrid realization overwhelming everything she'd ever wanted. Hushed, sad words escaped her, almost without volition. "Frank? I think I need you to go."_

 _"Wh-What? Baby?" Frank sat down abruptly. "You shouldn't be alone right now, Callie, not through this."_

 _"I've been nothing but alone through this, Frank!" She stopped, mortified. "I… I didn't mean that."_

 _Frank frowned, a bitter hint to the expression. "Remember what you told me once about that? That people never say things they don't mean, just things they wish they hadn't said? It's okay, Cal. I should have been here and I wasn't and you're entitled to be angry. The circumstances don't matter."_

 _Callie clasped both his hands. "Doesn't seem fair, does it?"_

 _"Very little in this whole mess is."_

 _A watery hiccough followed as she sank down beside him. "I'm not entitled to be angry, and I'm not, or not with you, anyway. Confused, maybe. I need a couple of days, ok?"_

 _"I'm not sure that's a good idea. I asked you to leave me once when I was hurting. I was wrong."_

 _"Only a day or two; it's what I need."_

 _"The only thing I need is you, Callie. I love you." He kissed her, soft and unassuming. "No more sitting on the floor with no lights on?"_

 _"No."_

 _"You'll eat?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"And sleep?"_

 _A weepy chuckle. "Yes."_

 _"You'll call Vanessa or my mother if you need anything?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"One day then. I'll meet you for breakfast day after tomorrow. Where?"_

 _"Your apartment." Callie hugged him, tighter than she ever had. "I love you, too."_

 _He nodded, every step of his departure echoing in her ears._

 _#####_

"Did you go?"

Callie jumped. She'd forgotten Amelia was there. "Of course. I loved him too much not to."

#####

 _"I wasn't sure you were coming." Frank opened the door as she climbed his front steps._

 _"I wasn't sure you'd let me in." Callie tried to deliver the words as a joke, but failed miserably. "I'm sorry. I should have let you stay."_

 _"That's nothing to be sorry for."_

 _She felt it the moment he kissed her. He knew. "I love you, Frank. You've never been anything but completely honest with me. Right now, I'd give anything not to be honest with you, but I can't do that. You don't deserve that."_

 _"Callie, whatever it is you're trying so hard not to say, maybe it doesn't need saying. You're hurt and reeling from one of the biggest changes life can fling at you. I want to be the one beside you for this, and everything that comes after. If you need to cry, I'll hold you. If you need to throw things, I'll catch them. If you need to smash things, I'll clean them up. If you need a punching bag, I'm right here. I can do this, and I will. Let me."_

 _"Maybe you can… I can't. I love you, but I'm not strong enough for this. I thought I was; thought I could kiss you on your way out the door and smile while I prayed you'd come home, could tuck our children in and tell them Daddy's fine and believe it every time, but I was wrong. Hopelessly, irrevocably wrong. Mom and Dad," she stumbled over the words, squeezing her eyes shut. "Mom and Dad dying showed me that. I can't always be alone."_

 _"It won't be always, Cal, and wherever I am, my heart's with you."_

 _"I can't, Frank. I am so, so sorry. I'm -"_

 _"Don't say it."_

 _"Is that really what you want? To be lied to?" Her voice was a whisper, perversely willing him to say yes._

 _"No." Damn. He wasn't supposed to cry. "Don't lie, you don't need to. I'll work at something else, white collar crime, maybe, something where I can be here for you anytime you need me."_

 _"Now who's lying?" A long, sad kiss leached the sting from the words. "You can't, love; I know that even if you don't. You'll die inside."_

 _"That may have just happened."_

 _There wasn't any possible response to that. She stood there in the foyer of what was supposed to become her home in eight days, face pressed into the chest of the person she loved most in the world. The person she couldn't bear to stay and destroy._

 _She slid the diamond from her finger, crying too hard to see as she slipped it into his hand and fled. "I love you."_

 _#####_

Amelia sniffled, wordlessly refilling her grandmother's water glass and waiting.

Callie's eyes were closed, but her hands clamped tightly over the arms of the chaise. Breathing was becoming more of an effort, and stifled tears weren't improving that situation.

"Did you ever see him again?"

Callie nodded slowly. "Once. Years later."

"You still love him, don't you?"

"Yes. That never changed."

"Can I ask you something?" Amelia paused, considering. "It may not be the right thing to ask, but…"

"Tonight's the night for whatever questions you have, sweetie."

"Did you love Grandpa Robert?

Callie opened her eyes, again reaching for the goblet. She needed help to raise it to her mouth this time. "I suppose I did. It just wasn't the same."

"I went back to my apartment in the city, trying to figure out what to do. The nineteenth… the nineteenth was awful. It was supposed to be my wedding day. Instead, I didn't even get out of bed. I knew I had to leave New York then."

A long burst of coughing interrupted the story, Callie burying her head in her hands until it passed. "I went to see my boss the following Monday. I told him I'd already boxed up everything I owned and I was leaving town."

"Was he upset?"

"No. With the long commute, he was expecting me to quit soon anyway, so he wasn't upset at all, but he was surprised I wasn't getting married. I think he understood, at least a little. He'd been friends with my father, so he called a college dorm-mate with banking connections on the west coast and found me a position."

"Grandpa?"

Callie managed a little laugh. "Oh, goodness no. Robert Coleridge did not stoop to the hiring of mere administrative assistant underlings. He did, however, notice blonde young things sitting at the desks of his corporate office."

"So he asked you out." Amelia jumped to the obvious conclusion, and in this case the correct one.

"He did." Callie shook her head, recalling the debonair executive who left fresh flowers on her desk every day for a month. Orchids. "At first I politely declined. I didn't have any interest in anyone but Frank."

"I take it he didn't accept no for an answer." Amelia may have only been eight when her grandfather died, but she did have some memories of the man - determined, forthright, and absolutely relentless.

"Definitely not. He kept asking, and at some point I realized a number of things. One, I was never going to love anyone else the way I did Frank Hardy. Waiting some mythical appropriate amount of time wouldn't alter that. Two, I was a long way from home, scared, and completely dependent on a job this man held in his hands. Three, he was an escape from everything I'd known."

Amelia pounced on the second comment. That was something she'd never considered. "Did he threaten you? About the job, I mean?"

"Overtly? No. It was more that there wasn't a Coleridge alive with any inkling that he couldn't have whatever he wanted. The worry that a refusal might cost me my paycheck was all on my part. He would have never dreamed coercion was necessary. His father on the other hand… that's a portion of this you don't need to know."

A small, sad smile quirked at the corner of her mouth again. "And Robert did have a certain charm. He was tall and athletic, ten years my senior, with dark blonde hair and perpetually amused grey eyes. A consummate flirt, he made you feel like the center of the world."

"Being Callie Shaw was lonesome, frightening, and uncertain. Becoming Robert Warren Coleridge's resident princess was secure, and if it wasn't love, and least it was a pleasant fairytale."

"Fairytales end." Amelia's observation hung in the air.

"They do." Callie closed the music box in her lap, hiding the pendant within. "Robert proposed three months later."

"Did he know how you felt?"

Callie nodded. "That I wasn't madly in love? Yes. That there was someone I left behind? That would have been hard to hide. He accepted what I had to offer, in fact, it was he wanted. He loved me, but he told me once that the wild, passionate love affairs from storybooks had no place in his world. His business consumed the vast majority of his time, and crazy romances didn't accommodate that. He was honest, and so was I. I could provide him with the perfect corporate wife, he could provide me with the security and home to raise children that would provide the unconditional love he couldn't. And we were genuinely fond of each other."

"It doesn't seem like that would be enough."

"It was at first." Callie peered into the water pitcher. Empty. Not surprising. "By the time I wanted more than that, I'd hidden away so many pieces of myself that I couldn't construct the whole anymore. Besides, Robert and I grew into a serene sort of love. I'd already broken the heart of the finest man I ever knew. I wasn't about to do it again."

Callie passed the music box to her granddaughter and lapsed into silence.

"Nana?"

"Hmm?"

"I thought you were asleep. Can I tuck you in?"

Callie leaned forward, wrinkled hands cupping both sides of a beautiful, youthful face. "No, honey, there's a bit of this tale yet, but it isn't for you. I think I'll stay awake awhile."

"Are you certain? It's well after midnight."

That brought another smile. "Another day… I didn't expect that. Amelia, dear, I'd like those photos and letters back and a piece of stationary, if you would."

"Of course." The teen produced the requested items. "Is there anything else I can get you? Something to eat? More water? I really think you should sleep."

"Frank would have liked you." Callie laughed. "I'll sleep soon enough. Now kiss an old woman good night and get some rest yourself."

Callie waited until Amelia closed the door, then selected a yellowed photo from the pile. Joe had always laughed at her for printing out all her photographs. She was so pleased she had. A dark haired young man with vibrant coffee toned eyes stared back at her, a perfect smile lighting his face. She had a very similar vacation snapshot of a young brunette on the mantle downstairs, taken in front of this same entrance to the Statue of Liberty, in a remarkably comparable brown sweater. It stood to reason the posing was similar; the same person had taken both shots. The image downstairs was of her eldest son, Jacob, taken on his eighteenth birthday. This picture, though… this one was taken twenty odd years earlier.

She set the photograph aside, choosing another. This one was a portrait of all her sons posed with their father and paternal grandfather, the boys ranging through their twenties and early thirties. It was a family favorite, a larger print prominently displayed in the dining room three floors below. The grey Coleridge eyes and blonde hair in shades from flax to dark ash graced each face. Well, except one. Jacob.

She grasped a pen carefully, pressing the tip to the embossed paper. The handwriting was large and tremulous, but it would do.

 _My Dearest Jacob,_

 _There are so many things I should have told you before now and somehow never did. The photographs and letters are for you. Look at them, and then talk to your daughter. Amelia and I have had a most candid evening. You'll figure it all out. I love you so very much and I did what I thought was best. Remember that._

 _I love you,_

 _Mom_

She picked up the envelope, tucking the photographs within. Writing on the back of the older one caught her eye as she bent to seal the edge. The neat script was achingly familiar. _Frank Hardy, age 20…_

 _#####_

 _#####_

Joe Hardy sank into his favorite chair, absently stirring his coffee. He hadn't any particular plans for the day, yet somehow his achy knee had decided to awaken him at six fifteen AM. The fool thing hated him. That much was obvious.

Maybe he could read the paper for a while. That was quiet enough for the ungodly hour and there wasn't any real point in waking Vanessa. He'd considered it, briefly, before wandering out of the bedroom, but decided he was merely jealous. Someone ought to get to sleep.

Yeah, that's what he'd do. He'd read the paper, then meander over to the office. He tended to make an appearance once or twice a week and pretend to terrorize the younglings. Hey, his name was still over the door; he was entitled, and he had a zany uncle reputation to uphold. He might even actually work an hour or two.

He frowned slightly at the sight of two newspapers on the stoop. It cost a blang fortune to get the thing delivered at all anymore, but he hated reading the news on a computer screen. So, he was one of forty people in Bayport that still had a morning paper on the porch. His more charitable neighbors called it eccentric. He knew exactly what his grandchildren called it. They loved him anyway.

Two papers, though, was an unusual occurrence. Joe still maintained a number of friends with, ah, intriguing backgrounds. One of the perks of that was someone sifting information for him regarding a smattering of other cities and towns that he found especially interesting. Towns like Edmonds, Washington. He'd had a subscription to the Edmonds paper for sixty-eight years now, the issues he cared to read few and far between. The papers went to a friend in DC. If there was something Joe needed to know, it appeared on his doorstep, neatly tucked inside a second Bayport Journal. Vanessa stopped asking years ago.

Joe unfolded the newsprint, scanning the society pages. There it was, the familiar name circled in green ink.

 _Callie Shaw Coleridge, age 92, died at home this morning after a short illness. The New York native and New York University graduate was the daughter of the late Jacob and Constance Shaw, and wife of the late Robert Warren Coleridge, the prominent Edmonds' financier. She is survived by her five sons and daughter-in-laws, Jacob Isaac and Leila Covington Coleridge, of Seattle, Lucas Warren and Claire Timmons Coleridge, of Edmonds, Davis Robert and…_

Joe scanned the lines over and over again, the coffee mug in his hand gone cold. He finally folded the paper in half, closing his eyes against images of a beautiful honey blonde with a vivacious laugh that had once captivated his brother… and then almost destroyed him. Joe had been angry with her for so very long. More than Frank ever was…

 _He was truly happy in the end, Cal. It took a long, long time to undo what you did, but he was happy... and I hope you were, too._

 _#####_

 _#####_

 _#####_

The End


End file.
